Before the Storm
by Doc Scratch
Summary: Alexander I asks his country to deliver a compromising letter to his former tutor in Switzerland. Ivan agrees. Russia/Switzerland pre-slash.


A/N: So, I was planning on adding more to this... but with all the other projects and stories and whatnot I'm swamped with, that may be a long time coming. However, I was told that it works perfectly well as a standalone the way it is, so I figure I'll post it as that and put more later if I feel so inclined.

Summary: Alexander I asks his country to deliver a compromising letter to his former tutor in Switzerland. Ivan agrees. Russia/Switzerland pre-slash.

Title: 

Before the Storm

What was he supposed to do? It was his boss, after all. Wasn't it the job of a nation and country to obey his or her leader? Then again, wasn't it the job of a nation's leader to be the caretaker of their country? Paul was trying, though! He was trying so hard, and he'd been so kind- before.

Ivan missed Catherine. He missed her badly, and Elizabeth, and even Anna... and of course Peter. Odd, that so many of the rulers he missed were women. His mind turned away again, it never lingered for long.

He looked down at the envelope, thick yet still dwarfed by his large hands. His fingers curled around the edges, and he knew what was inside, though he hadn't read it, and Alexander had given only the vaguest, most hurried of explanations. Anyone would be afraid to speak of such things at length, or in tones above whispers, but it had seemed as though Alexander had thought the faster his words left his lips, the lesser the chance was that some treacherous ear might snatch them from the air.

"I cannot get this mailed by normal means, and to trust most anyone would be folly... there is only you. You understand, don't you? Father is hurting you worst of all of us, I can only suspect. Take it to La Harpe, say whatever you like, Father will trust you if no one else."

"But... why would he trust me if I'm lying?" Ivan had stared, confusion and a contradicting dull sense of comprehension rising in his gut. There was going to be another coup staged. He knew about those, all too well. He supposed he was used to them, too accustomed to really feel the dismay that he knew he should. The young Alexander looked so furtive, so panicked, as if he were the first to think of such a thing. Perhaps he thought he was. Paul was paranoid, yes, but here was the proof that it wasn't unfounded, was it? Was paranoia ever unfounded? Ivan had yet to see such a thing. There were always those looking to overthrow one another. It was the way things worked, wasn't it? Why shouldn't he take part, when Paul's madness had grown so obvious as this. Hadn't he stood by Elizabeth during her seizure of power? And Catherine? And however many others? Hadn't he watched Anna tear up the council's articles with a lightness in his heart?

"Because he won't know you are. He won't think it- who would think of a country lying to their leader?"

"Who indeed." Ivan murmured, frost covering his voice as surely as it covered his land. However, he had pocketed the letter, and he had not told anyone. Alexander had known he would do this. They had all known where he would stand, when they made their decisions. He wasn't sure how, perhaps it had something to do with fate, or God, that the ones meant to come into power knew how to go about it, knew when the country would be on their side. He felt like a traitor. Abandoning the old to follow the new before ever the crown had changed hands. He would be infamous for it by now. Ivan wondered, vaguely, as he whispered lies to Paul, if he weren't as much a revolutionary as Francis, or the young Alfred. It was just that his revolutions were much more subtle and quick, and left him always with a new Tsar or Tsarina, as opposed to a new government. Thus far, at least.

Ivan wondered, as he made the journey across others' lands, places that were far warmer in their climates yet felt cold nonetheless, if Vash would welcome him... or even allow him past his borders. He had no friends in the West. If ever he had, Paul's madness had driven them away... even Austria was giving him those glances he knew so well, bespectacled eyes calculating, betraying the weighing of the benefit of retaining their shaky alliance against the most definite danger.

What was he supposed to do? Something had to be done. So he was doing what Alexander asked him to.

"You've come a long way for a vacation." Vash's voice was trying to be cold, like the Alps, but his emotions were too much like gunpowder, ready to explode at a moment's notice.

"Not so long." Ivan smiled. It reached his eyes and froze there. "It is better here, than elsewhere."

"No one wants you anymore." Vash said flatly, and Ivan couldn't tell if he was being rejected or if Vash was simply stating a fact. The Russian eyed the gun on the Swiss' back, but it remained there.

"Ah, no, everyone does!" Ivan replied, his sweet icy smile never faltering. "They want me! But, I am wanting them, and they don't want to be with me!" Vash gave him a look, calculating, but it was quite unlike the cold isolation Ivan would find in Roderich's eyes. Vash's calculation was a sort of mental violence, the heated glare as warming as sunlight, and Ivan couldn't help but be glad that there was someone who would speak to him so frankly. Or at all.

"You're a crazy bastard." Vash informed him. "If you cause any trouble here, I'll send you home in a basket! Understand?" Ivan's smile faded, then grew again, and he dropped a hand on Vash's small shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie.

"Da!" He replied, even as Vash jerked away, smacking his hand back to his side. The blow didn't hurt, but the action stung. Just one more tug on the rip where he'd tried to sew friends to himself, only to have them torn away.

"Don't touch me!" The Swiss snapped, one hand on the strap that secured his gun. There was a moment where both were silent, Ivan waiting for Vash to decide to shoot him or demand he leave. Vash was glaring bloody murder, lip curled over white teeth, angry flush across his face, small form wound tight with tense muscles. Those vivid green eyes locked with Ivan's own glacial gaze. The larger nation got the distinct feeling that Vash was trying to initiate a standoff, but Ivan's stance was still unthreatening, his expression remained open, and he met Vash's gaze with an almost naive curiosity.

The glare didn't soften, more like it simply changed from sharp to blunt. Vash looked away, he must have seen something in Ivan's eyes that everyone else had overlooked or ignored.

"Do what you came to do, then get out." Vash's voice was clipped and harsh, but it wasn't the same aggressive tone from before. Ivan didn't understand. He simply shrugged, and turned to go about his business. So Switzerland didn't want him either. He hadn't really expected that he would.

It never occurred to the Russian to look back.

Vash watched him go. The Swiss' teeth were grit, but the frustration was directed at himself. He couldn't help the swell of sympathy that rose in his breast. There was such loneliness hidden in Ivan's eyes... something Vash could relate to. It isn't the same! He told himself furiously. You choose your isolation, for good reason. But that was it, wasn't it? Ivan wanted to be with others, there was something innocent in him that, however twisted, was still there. But he was turned away on all sides, used and then ridiculed and abandoned. How might he have turned out, if anyone had helped or respected him without the incentive of fear or greed?

Pointless question.

Vash turned on his heel and stomped off, accompanied by the angry muttering that was his single most constant companion.


End file.
